Pink Lady
by Singalong
Summary: She did wear lots of pink. A character study on Jennifer Wilson, of "A Study in Pink" fame.


"Cleverer than you lot"

Waiting at the airport Jennifer Wilson made the fateful decision to change the password to her phone.

She changed it to "Rachel".

She had been thinking a lot about Rachel lately. She would be fourteen now. A young woman.

But Rachel hadn't ever really _been,_ at least according to Tom.

Tom telling her that Rachel didn't mean anything to him four years after Rachel's stillborn birth had been the final straw. For year's Jenny had made excuses for Tom. He was in mourning, he was in shock, that he dealt with the stress of never even getting to know their child in a different way.

But no, this was not so. He simply didn't care about Jennifer or their daughter. He was not interested in having children; he was not interested in Jenny. The only thing that kept them from divorce was the stress it would cause on their religiously conservative families, gossipy friends and coworkers.

But just keeping up appearances was not on Jennifer's mind. She wanted some pleasure, she wanted a challenge, and she wanted a little excitement.

The first lover she obtained she met on the street in Cardiff. He was just standing there in the rain and it was almost like he was waiting for her. To Jennifer's disappointment he was a married man who thought he was pulling the wool over her eyes (he never did find out she knew about _his_ life but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing he walked away from their tryst without knowing about hers).

Jenny started to juggle two or three lovers at the same time. She made up excuses that were wild yet plausible. And the thing was no one suspected. She even took to wearing wild shades of pink in public (everyone noticed the color and not the woman), it became her personal trademark despite her personal disdain for the color( she really loved navy blue) but it annoyed Tom so every new pink item she bought was worth it. Eventually her family and friends started giving her pink items (a pink overnight bag from her sister, Tom even caved in and ostentatiously presented her with pink heels).

She left clues; she would often clean her jewelry in front of Tom. But for all the years he never noticed that she thoroughly cleaned every piece she owned, every piece but her wedding ring. It didn't matter though, Jennifer knew what all the clues meant, and they were for her personal benefit.

The trip to London wasn't about a lover though. Today it was about spending some time alone. Thinking. She was considering leaving Tom, giving all this nonsense up. Really 16 years wasted on Tom were plenty. What was all this juggling worth?

And Rachel, Rachel had never been, she was getting older, maybe she could adopt. After changing her password on her Smartphone Jennifer climbed into a black taxi, intending to head straight to her hotel, maybe start working on the speech that Tom thoroughly deserved.

But when Jenny got into the cab she felt something was wrong. She couldn't place it as she told the cabbie the address. Perhaps she was feeling guilt for everything she had done to Tom? Perhaps she felt anger at herself for never allowing herself to move on beyond Rachel?

It became clear however that the ill feeling in her stomach had less to do with her personal struggles and more with the physical cab and cabbie she found herself with.

"I-where are you going?" Rachel finally ventured to ask, so unlike herself, she usually was so straightforward, brusque.

"Your final destination."

A rather dramatic and cryptic response Jennifer mused.

"Taking the long way?"

No response. The unease deepened. She had been to this hotel before and it was not that far from Heathrow.

The sky was darkening, the city was becoming shadows, and Jenny vaguely knew they were in South London, the opposite side of the city where her hotel was.

"What do you want? Money? You can have everything I've got on me."

No response.

The unease was turning into panic; Jennifer strained her memory to remember murder cases in London. The human mind always jumped to the worst scenario.

"You're going to kill me aren't you?"

"No ma'am. You, you are going to kill yourself."

What? Jennifer sat up, her phone clutched uselessly in her hand (she knew better than to try and call for help). _Self_, _suicide_, suddenly bells were chiming and her ears were ringing. String of suicides in London, each with many of the same characteristics, three of them.

Four.

Oh god.

The cab pulled up to an abandoned house and when the cabbie pulled open the door for her, gun in his hand she stepped out like a grand duchess. In fact this grand departure from the world of the living was less about showing up her murderer and more about making sure he didn't notice she had left her very pink luggage. And furthermore her phone. She wasn't sure what her plan was yet but this bastard wasn't going to get away with killing her.

Up they went, around and around a winding staircase into a darkened attic room.

Jennifer squared her shoulders and turned to face her killer. Study him. She didn't know what murderers looked like certainly but he didn't look very nice. But did anyone notice anyone else these days unless something shook them out of their stupor? She almost thought he looked like a hard working father-

Well what on earth did she look like? For once in many years she no longer felt reckless or empty or heaven forbid-bored. She felt like a silly woman dressed all in pink; about to meet her death.

"You know you can't force me to kill myself by pointing a gun in my face. I'd much rather be shot."

Well where had that come from? She wasn't sure but she was glad she was no longer tottering on her pink heels.

"Don't think of it like that."

Jenny flinched when he reached inside his coat. To her own frustration and embarrassment her cheeks flushed as he pulled out two bottles in one hand.

Down the rabbit hole…never to return, she thought.

He held out the bottles to her. In the fading light she had to squint to look at them. Two small unremarkable bottles held in his hand each with two pills inside them. He said nothing and Jennifer felt her hands clench in rage against her situation.

"What is this? I don't understand!"

He was smiling quietly, as though he were pleased she didn't comprehend. In that moment she realized she had lost points with him for not understanding, for not figuring out the game herself.

"Is this some kind of game? I have to choose?"

"Very good. One bottle you live, one bottle you die. It's a game, see?"

She folded her arms, took a step backward and nearly tripped over her heels. As Jenny looked backward at herself she was startled to see that she had splashed mud on herself back in Cardiff while she was dragging her suitcase. The suitcase which was still in the cab, the suitcase and phone that would lead the police to her killer.

"It's not fair. It's –it's just half and half." If that were even so, how did she know she could trust what he said?

He said nothing, just held the bottles out to her.

"I –I won't play." She would have plopped down on the wooden floor had she not been afraid she was about to die on it. About to? She was.

Still the cabbie said nothing; he laid the bottles gently on the floor.

"Everyone thinks about this you know. Ending it. No matter where they are in life or what life's been like for them. And a vain little lady like you? All dressed in pink? Can't have much to live for, eh?" He crouched down on the floor staring intently at the bottles. But if he thought appealing to her own personal death wish would work he was dead wrong.

But she had left her phone in the cab; she had assumed she was going to die. But she'd much rather it was quick.

"You should probably just shoot me."

He stared blankly.

Jennifer's stare back was a forced one; her mind was running through a hundred different thoughts at once. Maybe Tom knew after all she had a string of lovers. Maybe he didn't and her death would be even more of shock. Should she pray? If Rachel were alive would she be devastated? Rachael had never been alive. How long did it take to die from a gunshot wound? Oh god would her family think she had been serious a few months back and bury her in that pink ball gown of hers? Would anyone find her in time to even give her a proper burial?

Find her, trace her, save her. It was too late. Find him, trace him. Yes there was still time.

She bent down slowly, carefully and picked up the bottle closest to her. No thought on which, it didn't matter. Her hand shook as she clenched it.

In return the cabbie picked up the other and they each unscrewed the bottle. Jennifer tapped her pill out like it was aspirin and stared at it in her hand. How long? How long would it take? She had no notions of surviving this encounter…

"Together?" The cabbie asked. His eyes weren't even on his own pill.

She nodded, thoughts not even on what she was about to do. She didn't pay attention to him. She placed the pill on her tongue, swallowed it whole. Even though it was too soon for it to react she knew at once she had chosen wrong.

No matter.

The cabbie was chewing his pill like it was candy. He didn't seem to be relieved or frightened. He was watching her.

Jennifer's legs shook. She allowed herself to sink onto her knees staring at the cabbie with her head held high. That is until her stomach started to revolt, her heart started to race (in anticipation of this being her last moments? In fear?) her mouth was dry. It hurt. Death hurt.

Jennifer faced the floor, her hands on either side of her. She was dying? In this wretched house, in this giant city, with no one to really care she was gone. She didn't want to die. She wanted to be good, she had tried, it was just-

Rachel.

Thinking about Rachel steeled her, allowed her to look past the convulsions, to notice that nothing had happened to the cabbie. That he wasn't even watching her, was walking away.

How long did she have? She was weakening; she fell ungraciously onto her front, her hands clawing at the floor. Her thoughts were racing though.

Some of her old brusqueness returned. Would they notice right away that she was missing the absolute necessity for the 21ste century person? Her cell phone?

She began to trace a letter in the floor. The wood was hard but it hurt, her perfect nails were being ruined.

_R._

_Rachel password_

At least that was what Jennifer intended to write. Not a grammatical sentence it was true. In fact she would have loved to written a long paper detailing everything that had happened but there really wasn't time for that.

_ach_

Oh god her head hurt, her stomach, she was shaking, would she finish this crucial last message? Would anyone be clever enough to figure it?

_Waiting at the airport Jennifer Wilson made the fateful decision to change the password to her phone. _

_E_

One last letter…

_She changed it to "Rachel". _

She couldn't do it…

_She had been thinking a lot about Rachel lately. She would be fo- _

End.


End file.
